Clear Reflections
by Witherwings01
Summary: What if a Seer did not just foresee the future, but decided to mould it to fit her own vision? Harmony one-shot set in the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts.  Sybill Trelawney POV.


_**Authors Musings **__- OK, I'm sorry. Don't hate me. But I've been distracted again from my work in progress to write this little one shot. *Ducks torrent of abuse*_ ;)

_In my defence I needed some time out - chapter fifteen of 'The Needs of the One' is proving to be as easy to write as walking in quicksand, so I thought getting some creative wind in my sails by writing this couldn't be a bad thing._

_Actually it is something I have written in response to the same challenge which spawned 'A Wands Choice'. Namely to use under developed characters in the HP world to show Harry and Hermione that they are perfect for one another. For this tale I have chosen the always good value, Sybill Trelawney. _

_The first scene tasks place almost immediately after Voldemort's demise, with the final scene taking place several years later._

_Hopefully you enjoy it whilst I continue to wrestle with the uncooperative chapter fifteen. _

_I own nothing to do with Harry Potter obviously_

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><p><strong>Clear Reflections<strong>

Sybill Trelawney let out an exasperated sigh and pushed herself up from the hunched position she had taken up over her desk, the muscles in her neck protesting vociferously as she straightened up having spent much of the morning crystal gazing in what remained of her seventh floor classroom.

It was the morning after the brutal and bloody confrontation that many were already referring to as, _The Battle of Hogwarts_; a gruesome final chapter to a war that was finally brought to an end when both the leader of the Dark, Lord Voldemort, and most of his most loyal supporters, were killed, or else arrested, during the fight for control of the castle and the wizarding world as a whole.

But, whilst most of those who survived the battle, students and teachers alike, were spending their first day of freedom either assessing the damage the castle had suffered, clearing up the evidence of those who had fallen, or consoling one another on their most terrible losses, Sybill Trelawney had instead retired to the sanctuary of her classroom high in the north tower, her sole intention to use her gift to see what sort of future the victors had created for themselves.

Her classroom, like so much of the castle, had not escaped the battle unscathed. The windows had all been blown out leaving the tattered curtains flapping weakly in the gentle spring breeze; a breeze which was apparently not strong enough to dispel the smell of muggle gunpowder that filled the air. The towers circular walls also showed the evidence of damage cause by multiple stray spells; scorch marks, huge floor to ceiling cracks in the plaster work and even a few small holes in the masonry and roof tiles, allowing sunlight to stream though haphazardly creating spotlights of sunshine which criss-crossed around the room, each filled with swirling dust moats.

The task of clearing up could, she reasoned, wait for another day, so, pulling her many shawls closer to her slight frame to ward against the chill air, she bent to her task, spending close to half an hour sifting through the smashed remnants of her fine crockery and splintered pieces of furniture before her hands finally closed around the object she had been hopping to find - a crystal ball. Intact and undamaged.

It hardly seemed real, she thought as she rose to her feet and carefully transported the orb across the room, that less than twelve hours ago she was helping to defend the castle by hurling her precious globes at the invading army of death eaters. It hadn't been enough of course. She could perhaps lay claim to the fact that her actions had, at least in part, saved the life of Lavender Brown, but she had also been forced to watch helplessly as she saw several students and colleagues cut down by curses intended not to disable or to incapacitate, but simply to kill and destroy.

Feeling fresh tears prickling at her eyes, the divination teacher shook her head in an attempt to banish the painful memories from her mind - for the time being at least. There would be time to mourn properly later.

Having picked her way safely to her desk, Professor Trelawney used her forearm to sweep the debris from her desk onto the already littered floor, before reverently placing the magical device onto it's pedastle.

Retrieving a largely intact stool from the rubble festooned floor, the professor perched herself on it's edge and closed her eyes, attempting to uncloud her inner eye before gazing into the orbs depths. Taking one final cleansing breath she opened her eyes and locked her dark green irises on the images already starting to resolve in the formerly clear crystal. However, what she foresaw, left her anything but pleased.

Several hours later, the images swirling before her stubbornly unchanged, Professor Trelawney stood abruptly, knocking the stool noisily back to the floor in the process. Removing her thick glasses, she pinched the bridge of her nose and began to pace in a tight circle behind her desk.

"I felt certain..." she mumbled to herself. "...it should have been..._different_."

In truth, the future Trelawney had foreseen was far from terrible. Far from it in fact. Compared to the past few decades at least, the near-future for wizarding Britain appeared to her as an era of peace and great prosperity. However, one future - a future she had been tracking for the last five years now, appeared even further away than ever. Almost beyond the realm of possibility that it could ever come to pass. _Almost_.

What most people, several members of the schools faculty included, failed to understand about the subtle art of divination was the sheer number of possible futures; a myriad of possible choices and decisions, constantly moulding and rebuilding the future leaving it in a constant state of flux, unreadable to all but a select few who possessed _the gift_.

_The future is not yet written,_ as her Great-Great-Grandmother, Cassandra Trelawney, was often quoted as saying by some of the elder members of her extended family.

Blinking as she slipped her glasses back onto her face, Professor Trelawney nodded her head in at least partial agreement with the words of the last member of her family to have been blessed with the Second Sight. But, whilst her Great-Great-Grandmothers words were, in the strictest sense, true, there would always be futures that were more probable than others. Futures that appeared more..._solid_, for want of a better term.

But it was the failure of one such potential future to restore itself to a position of prominence amongst the myriad of others that left her feeling so..._deflated_; the future of one Harry James Potter and Hermione Jean Granger.

In her many years in possession of the Sight, she had never before foreseen two almost certain futures that so opposed one another, at the time appearing both certain, yet conversely impossible simultaneously.

On the one hand, as soon as the young Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had walked into her classroom together at the beginning of their third year, Sybill had begun experiencing visions of their shared future together; a romance so tender, so pure, that she hoped to see it fulfilled despite the many omens of death that stalked the young Mr Potter wherever he went. But how those two conflicting futures could ever coexist she had been unable to understand.

_Until now_.

If the rumours of the events of the previous night were to be believed, Harry Potter had indeed met his end and the hands of Lord Voldemort in the depths of the forbidden forest, the Grim which had pursued it's quarry for five long years finally claiming it's prize. However, and through a means Sybill did not pretend to comprehend, his death had been temporary, returning to the land of the living to vanquish the dark lord once and for all even as the dark lord marched into the grounds of the castle in supposed victory.

Given the fact that Harry's death omen had been fulfilled, Professor Trelawney had expected the vision of Harry and Hermione's great love that she had first witnessed five years previously to reassert itself as the most likely future. But, instead of growing stronger, more solid, that future now seemed farther away than ever, pushed to the margins of reality, unlikely to ever come to pass.

The future she now foresaw for Harry and Hermione included a marriage to Ginny and Ron Weasley respectively, two worse matches she could not envision if she did not say so herself. Not that she was one for idle gossip, but from what she knew and had heard regarding the youngest Weasley children, their personalities would clash violently with the more gentle spirits of both Mr Potter and Miss Granger.

If any had been aware of how closely she had followed the ebb and flow of Harry and Hermione's future relationship, some would have no doubt enquired why she had cared enough to take so much of an interest in the lives of students who were, at best indifferent to her, especially given the fact Miss Granger had stormed out of her class never to return after only five months of studying the discipline.

The answer to that question was quite simple and best explained by the final words she had spoken to the young Gryffindor which she still recalled with great clarity_; "...I am sorry to say, that from the moment you arrived in this class my dear, it has been apparent that you do not have what the noble art of divination requires. Indeed, I don't remember ever meeting a student whose mind was so hopelessly mundane..."_ and she had meant every word, although, perhaps not in the spirit that Miss Granger had obviously taken them.

As she told all of her new students on their first foray into divination, _"...if you do not have the Sight, there is very little I will be able to teach you. Books can take you only so far in this field..." _and it was a simple fact that Hermione Granger possessed no pre-disposition towards the art. Would it not, therefore, be completely irrational to deny the youngster a shot at true happiness on account of what would have amounted to nothing more than a grudge?

_But how to ensure that future happiness?_ she wondered silently.

Under normal circumstances it was not for a Seer to employ their gifts for the purposes of something as trivial as to play at being a matchmaker. However, she now realised that to ensure the future happiness of both The-Boy-Who-Lived and his soul mate, she would have no choice but to intervene.

"But how to do so?" she murmured.

She couldn't come right out and tell them, that much was for certain. After all, she was not so unobservant that she could mistake how most people thought of her; namely that she was nothing more than a charlatan, relying on a ethereal demeanour and a few theatrics to fool people into believing in her predictions.

It was, she knew, a Seers curse to be misunderstood, but it did not prevent her blood from boiling at the injustice of it.

Was she not the Seer who had predicted the death of Harry Potter? Had it not been her who had foreseen and forewarned Albus Dumbledore about an impending doom last year? Warnings which fell on deaf ears despite the the frequent appearance of the Lightening Struck Tower - an omen of disaster - in his tarot cards.

_Have I not proven myself to be a gifted Seer_? she wondered despondently as her eyes drifted, as they so often did when her mood turned dark, to a small wooden cabinet, mercifully undamaged, on the other side of the room.

Covering the space quickly, she crouched down and opened the cabinet revealing several glass decanters, each filled with her favourite tipple - sherry - and she reached out her hand to pull one of the bottles toward her, but, with just inches separating her finger tips from the cool glass container, something drew her up short.

_Perhaps this is why you are seen as a fraud?_ her inner voice suggested. _Reeking of alcohol, who would choose to trust your word? _

Sybill's eyes widened as she found she could not refute the accusation her inner voice had levelled at her.

Decision made, Sybill pushed to her feet and drew her wand.

"_Reducto_."

A jet of energy shot forth from her wand tip turning the contents of the cabinet to dust.

A satisfied smile graced her lips as she dusted her hands down having destroyed her stash, her thoughts returning to how to show the young Gryffindors the truth.

Struck by inspiration, Sybill attempted to snap her thumb and middle finger together, momentarily forgetting she had never been able to manage that particular feat - the weak sound of her digits slipping against one another the only result, however it did not dampen her enthusiasm for the plan that had appeared in her mind fully formed - _Show them the truth!_

With her course of action set, Sybill bustled to the ladder that led back down to the main castle and set off in hunt of her quarry.

It didn't take long for her to find them. Harry and Hermione were sitting alone on the slopping banks of the great lake, theirs hands all but touching, conversing in hushed tones with their heads mere inches apart.

Not wanting to be seen, Sybill paused behind a giant piece of masonry that had been torn asunder during the battle and drew her wand. If she didn't say so herself, although gifted in her chosen craft, Sybill Trelawney knew she was not the most powerful of witches, and whilst she was certain she did not have the magical strength to control someone's mind, she was fairly certain that she could implant something there.

Concentrating with all her might on the images she had once seen in the ether, she pointed the shaft of her wand at two of the saviours of the magical world and intoned a single word; "_Ingenero_."

**2nd May 2006**

The sounds of children playing distantly proved to be a balm to Professor Trelawneys heart as her feet carried her in the general direction of the great lake where the several squealing and laughing voices emanated from.

The eighth annual memorial to remember those who had fallen during the Second Wizarding War had concluded half an hour ago, and, as was her yearly ritual on the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, Sybill Trelawney had spent the time since walking the grounds of the castle in solitude, her mind consumed with dark thoughts originating from those conflict filled days.

She crested a slight rise in the lawns and was rewarded with her first uninterrupted view of the shoreline of the placid waters of the lake, instantly feeling much of the weight she often felt in the days immediately after the anniversary of the end of the war each year lift from her shoulders.

Perhaps two dozen children were playfully frolicking at the waters edge, splashing their parents and siblings gleefully as they darted about with the boundless energy only the very young possessed. Amongst the throng of youngsters, Professor Trelawney could make out several heads of distinctive fiery red, presumably yet another generation of Weasley's, the outrageous shade of purple sported by her former colleague, Remus Lupin's son, Teddy, and a toddler with platinum white hair clinging to the leg of someone she recognised as Draco Malfoy - the boys father no doubt.

Her feet had carried her almost all the way the the shingle bank of the lake when Sybill recognised her name being called amoungst the snatches of indistinguishable conversation.

"Professor Trelawney!"

Turning on the spot and raising her hand to shield her eyes against the glare of the sun she squinted her eyes in a vain attempt to identify the speaker.

"Professor Trelawney," repeated the voice, close enough now for her to recognised the speaker as none other than Harry Potter. "It's good to see you."

"Please my dear, how many times must I remind you? It's Sybill," she replied as Harry stepped down from the bank and out of the direct glare of the sun.

The young man who could have once been described as scrawny during his childhood had matured into an athletic, powerfully built man, but there was no mistaking him as the same boy who was once referred to as The Chosen One, his mane of messy black hair and piercing green eyes exactly as she remembered them.

"I just wanted to say how moving I found your speech today."

Sybill nodded her head once in acceptance of the young man's praise. Having made several changes in her life during the last few years, not least quitting the bottle, the formerly ostracised divination teacher had grown into a respected figure at the school, this year having been afforded the honour of the position of deputy headmistress following Professor Flitwicks decision to retire. It was in the performance of that role that she had been expected to make a speech to the assembled witches and wizards at the memorial service, although in truth she felt that no words could ever do justice to the noble sacrifices so many had made that night eight years ago.

She said as much aloud, but Harry appeared momentarily distracted, turning his gaze back into the blinding sunlight and extending a hand.

"You remember my wife, Hermione?" he said as he assisted a familiar bushy haired witch down the bank, placing a protective hand over her swollen abdomen, an action which elicited a soft smile from his heavily pregnant wife. "And I don't think you have met my girls?" Harry added, his green eyes raking the shoreline before coming to a halt at the imposing figure of Andromada Tonks who stood watch over two young girls and her grandson as they played in the shallows, the girls gazes snapping up in response to their fathers calls before quickly trotting up the beach to them.

A gentle smile graced the deputy headmistresses lips as she regarded the twin girls before her, for although she had never before met the youngsters, whom she knew would be about four or five now, they were exactly as she had foreseen all those years before. Each had a head of curly brown hair, a smattering of freckles across their noses and cheeks and matching wide green eyes which blinked up at her inquisitively.

"Sybill, these are my girls," said Harry proudly. "Lily, Rose, this is Sybill. She'll be one of you teachers when you come to hogwarts."

Simultaneously the two young girls thrust out their right hands in an unwitting, but extremely accurate, impression of their mother as a child, their words crashing over one another as they introduced themselves in a manner far beyond their years;

_"I'm Lily Potter."_

_"I'm Rose Potter."_

Sybill's smile morphed into a wide grin as she shock each tiny proffered hand. "It is nice to meet both of you too," she said sincerely noting both Harry and Hermione wearing equally lopsided grins of commingled pride and amusement.

After conversing for a few moments, the young family were called away to rejoin their extended family as they made their way to the main gates to return to their homes.

Sybill smiled serenely as she watched them go, Harry with his arm protectively around his wife's shoulders as the twins chased one another around their parents feet, the very image she had chosen to implant in the minds of both Harry and Hermione eight years ago.

Yes, sometimes the future was unwritten, but once in a while it didn't hurt to give it a nudge in the right direction.

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><p><em>Well, there we go. <em>

_As always, I love to hear what you all think, so review on your way out if you like._

_Till next time,_

_Wings._

_ps - I wrote this with severe man flu, so if there is any faux pas blame the lurgy and not me! _


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